


Why Do We Fall

by AEpixie7



Series: Take You Down With Me [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anger Bang, Bar Fight, Bratty bottom Crowley, Car Sex, Domination/submission, Fallen!Aziraphale, M/M, Strap in, Submissive Crowley (Good Omens), What Have I Done, but also a brat, daddy dom, okay poor choice of words, that's right kids Aziraphale is a daddy dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 00:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7
Summary: After Aziraphale's fall, Crowley decides to show him the ropes. Crowley is a God awful teacher.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (E rating and content warning for second chapter)  
> I guess it's not entirely necessary that you read Part 1 of this story. But you should. It juicy.  
> In short, in case you haven't read it, Aziraphale had sex with Crowley while he was falling from Grace. Crowley still calls him "angel" because he is a potato.  
> (Male pronouns for God because I wrote this before I knew about Frances McDormand and the female pronouns for her character)

Crowley allowed his grin to widen wickedly, his eyes pulling reluctantly from the Bentley's keys where they dangled from Aziraphale's finger to slowly drink in the sight of his new lover. He shivered almost imperceptibly at the thought- how he had dreamt of Aziraphale, for years. His flesh beneath his teeth. The taste of his tongue. The warmth of his breath against his neck. Were he not standing at the door of Crowley's flat, insistently arching an eyebrow, he wouldn’t even believe it had happened. But that lovely, insistent ache all over his body, where Aziraphale’s manicured fingernails had clawed at his arms, back and thighs… oh what a beautiful reassurance that it hadn’t been a dream at all. 

Crowley slithered forward, into Aziraphale's personal space, until he had him backed against the wall. He pressed his lithe body against his lover's slightly more plump one, breathing in his scent as he eased his arms up, pinning his wrists to the wall as he gave his hips a shallow roll. Aziraphale sucked in a quick breath, whatever words he was about to utter gulped back down as Crowley’s tongue flicked gingerly beneath his ear. Crowley took the temporary moment of distraction to slide the Bentley’s keys away from him. _I'll drive_... he had said. _Ha!_ He was starting to wonder if Aziraphale liked taunting him. He was starting to wonder if he liked _being taunted._

“Not a chance in Hell, angel,” he whispered, backing quickly away and loving the little blush that his closeness had left on Aziraphale’s cheeks. 

_“Wicked little beast,”_ Aziraphale muttered with a grin, and Crowley felt a very strange heat in his own cheeks. Aziraphale smiled devilishly at the sight. He pushed away from the wall, grabbing fistfuls of Crowley’s jacket at his sides and hauling him into a needy kiss. Crowley whimpered against the suddenness of it, his knees all but melting at the raw, passionate energy that was radiating from Aziraphale. It was that same loving glow that had always emanated from him as an angel, but now, so intoxicatingly tinged with _need…_

Crowley had to pull back, and if he were human, he would have been panting from the crash of satisfaction that hit him like a tidal wave. He allowed his hands to rest comfortably on Aziraphale's waist, his forehead resting on his shoulder as he attempted to regain his composure. Even though he didn’t need to, he realized, he was indeed panting. 

“Keep doing that, angel, and I'm gonna need to spend the next six thousand years showing you exactly what you do to me…” he whispered against Aziraphale's shoulder, a shudder coursing through him, to which he received a low chuckle. 

“Oh my dear, I look forward to it,” Aziraphale cooed, his fingers lacing into the hair at the base of Crowley’s neck, sending another violent shudder down his spine. 

“But for now… I think I’d very much like to go for a drive.” 

Crowley let out a frustrated growl, unable to keep himself from biting Aziraphale's shoulder, over his coat. 

Aziraphale could feel the effort it took for Crowley to pull himself away. “Yeah, alright angel. Whatever you want,” he grumbled, motioning for Aziraphale to go first. 

They walked in silence to the Bentley, and Aziraphale felt, for the first time since the Arrangement had been made, an awkwardness between them. When Crowley opened the passenger side door for him, he felt heat rising in his cheeks, even though he had held his door a thousand times before. Now, it seemed, there was a suggestion in the gesture. A romance to it that made Aziraphale wonder if it had always been there. Had Crowley been silently courting him for centuries? And he had been so intentionally blind to it? How impossibly cruel he had been to the demon all these years. 

“Crowley, my dear, I…” he stammered, watching Crowley in his peripheral vision, his shrouded eyes darting hopefully off the road and over at his counterpart. 

“I do believe…” he turned slowly, placing a hand lovingly on Crowley’s thigh and feeling the demon's heart rate double. “I owe you an apology.” 

Crowley scoffed, but he slid one hand down from the steering wheel and beneath Aziraphale’s hand to cradle it lightly. “Angel… I just fucked you straight out of Heaven… and you think _you_ owe _me_ an apology?” 

Aziraphale fidgeted in his seat, his cheeks blushing once more. Oh how he wished his corporation's most annoying habit of blushing had gone away when he fell. 

“Well I… what I mean to say is… I don’t feel any different…” he said, his voice cracking as centuries of memories came crashing down over him. “I always thought… I assumed that once one had fallen, they would feel some sort of… inclination towards evil, some… predilection to vice. But I… I still feel like… _me._ ” 

Crowley was silent for a moment, before he squeezed Aziraphale's hand gently. “Funny, innit?” he said dryly. He clearly did not find it funny at all. 

“Crowley, what I mean to say is… when I was operating under the assumption that you had no heart…” his voice was barely a whisper and his chin quivered. “It made it easier for me to keep breaking it.” 

Crowley sucked in a breath, swallowing hard as he kept his eyes maddeningly focused on the road ahead of him. The streetlights danced across the dashboard and over his sunglasses for a long while. Aziraphale had hoped Crowley would argue, that he would reassure him that he had never truly hurt him. But he knew better. Crowley’s silence was telling. 

“Honestly angel… there’s a lot of guilt and pain that goes into being a demon. Let’s not make each other a source of it, shall we?” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help the warm tears that clung to his eyelashes. All those pithy little comments he had ever made- telling Crowley he couldn’t possibly understand things like love, compassion, or empathy. So many hurtful words, from someone who supposedly understood those concepts better than him. And yet Crowley was displaying the most angelic practice of all- forgiveness. 

“Oh angel, don’t cry, please. I can’t stand… I don’t… really it’s alright. If you hadn’t been such an asshole all these years, I never would’ve been drawn to you in the first place, right?” Crowley smiled nervously, his thumb caressing Aziraphale's knuckles. Aziraphale forced out a laugh, before pulling Crowley’s hand up to his lips and kissing the back of it. “My dear, I simply cannot believe how daft I've been. You’ve been more of an angel than I have, apparently.” 

“Don’t insult me.” 

Aziraphale smiled genuinely, and relished the beautiful way Crowley’s lips framed his mildly serpentine fangs when he was happy. 

“Where are we going anyway?” 

“You asked me to show you how to make some trouble. That’s exactly what I’m doing.” 

Aziraphale giggled, glancing down at Crowley’s hand still resting in his. His surprisingly innocent, lovely hands. “My dear I really had hoped you knew I was being facetious. We both know you haven’t started any real trouble since the dark ages.” 

Crowley pouted, but didn’t argue. He leaned forward, switching on the radio and motioning to the glove box. “Why don't you find us some music? Think I’ve got Stravinsky in there somewhere.” 

Aziraphale began digging around, entirely aware that whatever tape he found would decidedly _not_ be Stravinsky, while the DJ on the radio chattered obnoxiously with his co-host. Aziraphale found the tape he was looking for, and inserted it into the deck as the DJ began laughing at a poorly delivered joke. 

The voice continued to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. It grew deeper and more menacing, until it was very clear that the laughter was no longer human. 

“CRAWLY!” the voice screeched, and Crowley jerked so hard that he yanked the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision before veering onto a sidewalk and slamming on the brakes. Aziraphale felt an involuntary bubble of panic at the voice, but nowhere near the evident horror that had Crowley's hand covering his mouth in what looked like an attempt to keep from vomiting. 

“CRAWLY THIS IS SENSATIONAL, YOU VILE CREATURE!” the voice bellowed, and Crowley visibly sank back into his seat as he gulped back a whimper. Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley’s hand. He knew Below hadn’t made contact since the almost-apocalypse, and no matter the reason they had waited so long… it couldn’t be anything good. Crowley opened his mouth to respond, but his throat had apparently closed up. 

“WE HAVE BEEN FORMULATING YOUR PUNISHMENT EVER SINCE YOU BETRAYED US. IT WAS GOING TO BE SO… DELIGHTFUL…” 

Crowley chewed his lip as he clamped his eyes shut, tears forming in the corners. 

“BUT THIS… YOU MAY HAVE JUST REDEEMED YOURSELF. THE ANGEL OF THE EASTERN GATE? YOUR ADVERSARY SINCE THE GARDEN OF EDEN… AND YOU HAVE TEMPTED HIM TO FALL…” the voice once again devolved into hysterical laughter, to which Aziraphale huffed an annoyed sigh. As one does when their technologically challenged uncle doesn’t understand how 'speaker phone’ works. 

“You know I can hear you, right?” Aziraphale snapped, Crowley's eyes darting toward him in a panic. 

“AZIRAPHALE… WELCOME TO OUR RANKS! WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED YOUR DAMNING SIN WOULD HAVE BEEN LUST! AND WITH THAT TRAITOROUS SNAKE NO LESS!” 

More insistent laughter. 

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a glance, and even through Crowley’s dark lenses, their unspoken words were clear. 

_They don't know I was already falling when I came to you._

_I won’t tell if you don’t._

_By all means, my dear, the spoils are yours. I’ll even tell them you were a great shag._

_Would you be so kind?_

_Of course, my dear._

Crowley finally found his voice, though it still quaked a bit. “Well you know… I had to do something to prove… I’m still yours…” 

The chuckle he received was more threatening than it was amused. 

“OF COURSE YOU ARE, CRAWLY. AND NOW, SO IS AZIRAPHALE. WE COULD RECALL HIM BELOW ANY TIME WE SO CHOOSE, NOW, COULDN'T WE? NO USE FOR _TWO_ DEMONS ON EARTH IS THERE?!” 

If two hearts could simultaneously stop at once, the Bentley would have suddenly become a Hearse. 

“Okay, that’s all well and good, but trust me on this… Aziraphale would probably be as much use to you in Hell as a jar of piss at a house fire. No offense, angel.” 

“None taken.” 

“Just hear me out. Heaven has struggled for six thousand years to keep me, your most loyal servant…” 

*Wink* 

“...In check. This particular fallen angel knows exactly what to do to be of the utmost nuisance. Because I used to be that nuisance to him. Now imagine… how _overwhelmed_ Heaven would be… if there were two of us?” 

Silence. 

“I imagine the scales might tip in your favor as the turnstiles to Hell started spinning from the multitude of souls we send your way?” Aziraphale suggested, and Crowley mouthed _oh that’s good_ accompanied by a thumbs-up. 

“I should think they might even send an Archangel to deal with us. And who says we can’t tempt another angel into a Fall?” 

_Okay, that’s a bit much, dial it back, angel._ Crowley mouthed. 

_Sorry._

“THE TWO OF YOU… WORK AS A TEAM?” the voice sounded less sure, though its doubt was promising in itself. 

“YOU MEAN… LIKE YOU DID WHEN YOU FOILED OUR GREATEST PLAN?!” 

Crowley and Aziraphale stared wide-eyed at each other for painstaking moments. Aziraphale was the one to finally break the tension. 

“Well… it worked, didn’t it?” 

Crowley looked absolutely mortified. 

The voice was quiet for a long time, before it began laughing once more. Neither demon knew whether to take that as a good sign or a very, very bad one. 

“VERY WELL, FALLEN ANGEL. CONSIDER THIS YOUR TRIAL PERIOD. YOU MAY WORK ALONGSIDE THE DEMON CRAWLY, BUT MARK MY WORDS… WE EXPECT AN EXPONENTIAL INCREASE IN YOUR OUTPUT, CRAWLY, NOW THAT YOU HAVE A PARTNER. OTHERWISE ALL THOSE PLANS FOR YOUR PUNISHMENT… WE SHOULD LOVE TO ENACT THEM. AND WE'LL MAKE AZIRAPHALE WATCH.” 

The radio clicked in a rather banal manner, the tape deck finally catching the tape and beginning to play Stravinsky's masterpiece, _Another One Bites The Dust._

Crowley was silent for a long time, before he smiled to himself and steered the Bentley back onto the road, inciting a loud honk from a cabbie. “Well that went down like a lead balloon.” 

Aziraphale laughed, finally releasing Crowley’s hand and instead resting it on the back of his neck, his thumb absently caressing the skin he found there. “I swear, Crowley, that forked tongue of yours can get you out of any situation.” 

Crowley grinned, pulling Aziraphale's hand from his neck and putting that tongue to use around a few fingertips. “Hoping it gets me _into_ more trouble than out.” 

“Might do,” Aziraphale said, enraptured by Crowley’s dexterous use of his mouth. The serpent's yellow eyes peered out over his sunglasses, meeting Aziraphale's newly indigo gaze, and the desire in the exchange made Aziraphale shiver. Somehow the Bentley stayed in its lane, even with its driver so intensely preoccupied. 

Crowley finally pulled the Bentley to a halt at their destination- an otherwise ordinary looking brick building. 

“Where _have_ you brought me, you fiend?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley offered a hand to help him out of the car. Their destination appeared to be just a seedy looking bar- not the usual fare of the Flash BastardTM. 

“I thought you were going to show me how to start trouble?” 

“Angel, I _am_ trouble. And I'm only getting started.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HE ANGERY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY heads up there's some homophobic violence in the beginning of this chapter. But they get what's coming to them. FYI

Crowley led the way, finding seats at the bar and pulling out a chair for Aziraphale. “Thank you my dear,” he said, before glancing around nervously at the numerous pairs of eyes that were staring at them. The clientele of this particular pub seemed to be exclusively large, burly men in jackets with the sleeves ripped off. 

“Crowley, why are we here? What is this place, it doesn’t seem to be at all up to our standards…” he snapped his mouth shut and jumped as the bartender slammed some bar napkins down in front of them, his eyes fixed not too fondly on Aziraphale. “What’ll it be?” he asked, his tone almost annoyed. 

“Hmmmmm,” Crowley said, taking his seat next to Aziraphale, his foot resting on Aziraphale’s bar stool and his hand placed gently between his lover's shoulder blades. 

“Have you got any wine?” Crowley said, smiling devilishly even as Aziraphale squirmed. This didn’t seem like the place that you go for a nice Bordeaux. The bartender seemed equally perplexed. 

“Yeah. Comes out of a box,” the bartender quipped, resting his hands on the bar and tilting his head as if he were just waiting for a snobby reply. 

“Oh heavens,” Aziraphale muttered, but Crowley answered for him. 

“Perfect. Two glasses of your finest red wine,” he said, smiling sweetly even as the bartender looked between them judgingly before he lumbered off. 

“Crowley if you make me drink wine out of a box I may just contact Heaven and see if they'll smite you for me.” 

Crowley chuckled and scooted closer, one hand travelling up Aziraphale’s thigh and his other one stroking through his blonde curls. Aziraphale blushed, but remained rigid as several men across the bar stopped their game of billiards, folding their arms and whispering to each other. 

“Crowley… while I’m never one to admonish affection… I’m not sure this is the time or place…” 

“Angel, the world is ours now. The time is whenever the hell we want, and the place is wherever I damn well please,” Crowley whispered, his hand reaching the top of Aziraphale's thigh and giving it a little squeeze. Aziraphale smiled anxiously as the bartender set down two glasses of wine, his eyes lingering predatorily on Crowley. “Thank you, that'll be all,” Aziraphale said, his attempt at pulling the bartender's threatening gaze off of Crowley only managing to do so for a split second. 

“I wouldn’t do that here if I were you,” the bartender said beneath his breath, and Crowley's eyes snapped over toward him. 

“Do what?” he said, feigning innocence, before reaching for his glass of wine. “We’re just two mates sharing a drink,” he said with a smile, before taking a sip of his wine. The bartender sighed, and slung his bar towel over his shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Aziraphale fidgeted as the bartender wandered off, and the men in the corner started lining up their billiard sticks against the wall, as if they may soon have a more pressing agenda. 

Crowley seemed entirely unbothered, as he leaned over and kissed Aziraphale’s neck, just below his jawline. 

“Really, my dear, what _are_ you trying to accomplish here?” 

Crowley was quiet for a moment, before he took another sip of his wine and grinned. 

“I… am inciting wrath.” 

Aziraphale felt a momentary flash of anger, and shoved Crowley's hand away where it lingered on the back of his neck, just as the men across the bar started making their way towards them. 

“Seriously? You are using our… well, our _relationship_ as fodder for inspiring sin? I must say that is low, even for you. I rather thought what we have is quite a bit more sacred…” he mumbled as the men drew nearer, only now realizing there were quite a few of them. “And besides, these men don’t appear to need any sort of push in the direction of wrath, I rather think they reside there…” 

“I’m not inciting it in them, angel. In you,” Crowley said with a devilish grin, before he downed the rest of his wine. Aziraphale didn’t have the chance to respond with his confusion and ensuing outrage, because five large men had come to a halt behind their barstools. 

“Gentlemen!” Crowley said, standing from his seat and smiling, all innocence. “What can I do for you?” 

“You can leave. This in't the place for you,” one of the men drawled, cracking his knuckles. Crowley smiled, reaching down and placing a hand on Aziraphale’s knee. “Oh but my friend hasn’t finished his drink.” 

The man nearest Aziraphale reached over him, taking his glass of wine and tossing its contents all down Crowley’s front. 

Aziraphale had forgotten just how quickly serpents could strike. 

Crowley lunged forward, contacting his fist with the man's jaw and knocking him to the ground. Aziraphale jumped up from his seat just as all hell broke loose. He clung to the bar, all five men preoccupied with Crowley. They grabbed him by the shoulders of his jacket, and began mercilessly punching him- in the gut, the ribcage, his face. Aziraphale could see blood on their fists, the color darkening every time they pulled back. 

Aziraphale clutched the bar, six thousand years of angelic duties flashing before him. Usually he would have thwarted this kind of hatred and wrath. He would have reminded these men about the people they loved, what those people would think of them in this moment. Would they be proud? Or would they be ashamed? But he couldn’t do that, now. He had spent millennia guiding humanity in the right direction, and for what? Always, it had been part of The Plan for him to fall. Had all those years of his loyalty and devotion to God’s creation really been for nothing? Had it all not been enough? And how, how on Earth could his love for Crowley, so pure and blinding in its sincerity… how could it be met with hatred such as this? 

Aziraphale pushed away from the bar, and for the first time in six thousand years, he allowed himself to feel. Not to swallow the stirrings of wrath, and replace it with compassion. As he watched his lover fall to the ground, bloody and broken, he felt no compassion at all for these men. _They deserve every flame of Hell for this…_

He stepped forward, grabbing two men by their jackets and tossing them easily over the bar, sending bottles and glasses crashing. Two more pulled themselves away from Crowley and faced their unexpected adversary, clearly underestimating how hard a former Cherub could punch. The first stumbled back, clutching his broken nose, as the second stepped forward, landing a merciless punch to Aziraphale's ribcage. He doubled over, spitting up blood, but recovered quickly, using his low stance to rush his opponent, sending them both crashing into a table. He would have continued his assault, but the man's counterpart had recovered himself, and he yanked Aziraphale back by his coat collar, wrapping an elbow around his neck in an attempt to cut off his airways. A useless attack, really. No need for oxygen. Aziraphale was about to shove an elbow back into the man's gut when he heard it. The click of an armed revolver. 

Everyone stopped. The last remaining man had Crowley on his knees, blood pouring down his face and chest, and a revolver pointed at his temple. 

“Shoulda’ just left when you had the chance, shouldn't ya'?” the man sneered, his fingertip hovering over the trigger. 

Aziraphale had already started to forget certain aspects of what it felt like to be an angel. The perpetual warmth on his skin, the ease of gentleness. But in that moment, seeing Crowley beaten and only a moment away from sudden discorporation… he remembered what it was like to smite someone. He easily twisted out of his captor's grasp, and smashed the two men's heads together, ignoring the sickening _crack._ He turned and strode purposefully toward Crowley’s attacker, his black wings unfurling and claws forming around his fingertips as his eyes glowed red. He grabbed the man by his throat, lifted him off his feet and held him mere centimeters from his own face, emitting the most terrible and gut wrenching growl he didn’t even know he was capable of. The man writhed and whimpered, before Aziraphale dropped him to the ground, and he immediately dropped his gun and scampered from the bar. Aziraphale planted himself protectively over Crowley and turned, another demonic growl shaking the building so hard that the few remaining bottles on the bar toppled off and shattered. The men who were still conscious screamed like banshees, and bolted toward any exit they could find. And finally, the bar was quiet. 

Aziraphale turned and knelt, pulling Crowley up to have a look at his injuries. Skull fracture, broken nose and jaw, and from the sound of his wheezing, several broken ribs and a punctured lung. Aziraphale's hands worked quickly, healing every injury and willing away the blood from his clothes. Once he'd finished and was confident in his work, he shoved Crowley to the ground and stood, stomping behind the bar and finding a broken whiskey bottle that remained intact from the neck down. He took a swig, and wiped his mouth as Crowley stood slowly, his eyes sheepishly searching Aziraphale. 

“How dare you. How dare you do that to me. I’m only just starting to understand myself in this new role and you… you _played with me._ Like I was a _toy._ I’m very cross with you,” he said, taking another gulp of whiskey as he rounded the bar and stood angrily in front of Crowley, who seemed suddenly very small, even though he had a bit of height on Aziraphale. 

“Oh come on angel, I only wanted to set you free, to show you what you can do, now that you're…” 

“ _A demon?_ ” Aziraphale snarled, scratching his still intact claws across the bar and leaving deep gouges in the wood. Crowley flinched, his expression softening as he realized what he'd done. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, casting his eyes to the ground. His sunglasses had apparently been lost in the scuffle, and Aziraphale was glad to see remorse painted in their yellow glow. 

“You think I didn’t already feel wrath? You think I haven’t felt it, _for centuries?_ It's always been there, Crowley. I have felt wrath at the injustices humanity has done to itself, I have felt it for myself, for feeling so helplessly trapped by such unyielding rules. But most of all I’ve felt it for you. For how could one as perfect as you have fallen in the first place? What kind of cruel joke was He playing to cast you out of Heaven when I've always thought you deserved it most of all?” 

Crowley’s eyes dragged back up to meet Aziraphale's, and the heartbreak in them was palpable. 

“Did you even think of the consequences? What if... what if you had been discorporated? My dear they could have killed you and you would have left me up here... _alone_... and I..." 

"I didn't think about that,” Crowley muttered. 

"Well of course you didn't because you're an idiot,” Aziraphale said, taking another drink of whiskey. 

"Yeah but I'm _your_ idiot,” Crowley said with a hopeful smile, his hands reaching out for Aziraphale. 

"No, don't. Crowley, don't be so flippant,” Aziraphale said, backing out of Crowley’s reach, much to the demon's dismay. “You can't just expect my forgiveness for this. I'm not an angel anymore, I don't have to forgive you. Now we're leaving." 

Aziraphale slammed the whiskey bottle on the bar, shattering what was left of it, before he immaterialized his wings and claws. Crowley searched his eyes for a moment longer, before turning to slink out the door. Aziraphale watched him, and even so angry as he was, he felt an overwhelming crash of relief that Crowley hadn’t been killed. How he adored that impossible bastard. 

He hated what he was feeling. Angry, yes. Betrayed, yes. But damn it all if that fight hadn't gotten his blood pumping in the best way. 

Once outside, he planted a hand roughly between Crowley's shoulder blades, shoving him up against the broad side of the Bentley. 

“Jeez, angel, you don't have to…” 

Aziraphale pinned him against the car with his own body, yanking Crowley's hands behind his back and forcing his head back by a fistful of his hair. He laced as much malice into his voice when he whispered in Crowley's ear. “You have been… _a bad boy_ this evening…” 

Crowley swallowed audibly, his breaths quickening as his yellow eyes flickered to try and catch a glimpse of Aziraphale. “Yeah?” he stuttered, his voice barely a squeak. 

Aziraphale took his earlobe between his teeth and tugged gently, insinuating his knee between Crowley’s legs as he leaned harder into him. Crowley whined, his knees nearly giving out. 

“Foul beast, using me as a pawn in your scheme. Manipulating me like that. I have half a mind to _punish you_ …” 

Crowley whimpered as his knees actually did buckle, though he was still pinned relentlessly between Aziraphale’s surprisingly strong body and the cold metal of the Bentley. 

“Az… Aziraphale… I…” Crowley was trembling in Aziraphale’s grasp, but he didn’t get to finish whatever plea he was going to make. Aziraphale released his vice grip in Crowley’s hair, instead shoving two fingers into the demon's mouth. Crowley choked and whimpered around the obstruction, but began sucking enthusiastically at Aziraphale's fingers. 

“Don’t move,” Aziraphale growled in Crowley’s ear as he released his hands, and Crowley complied by keeping his wrists pinned behind himself, as if restrained. Aziraphale slid his hand between Crowley and the Bentley, miracling his trousers unfastened and slipping his hand beneath. Crowley shivered violently as Aziraphale palmed his hardening cock, feeling the wetness as he seeped precum all over his hand. 

He gave Crowley a few maddeningly unsatisfactory strokes, before removing his hand and returning it to pinning Crowley’s wrists hard against his lower back as he pressed his own erection against Crowley's ass. 

“Do you regret your actions?” 

Crowley choked out a noise around Aziraphale's fingers. 

Aziraphale felt a momentary lapse of concern at the tears that were forming at the corners of Crowley’s eyes, but gulped it down with a forced recall of his own rage back in the pub. He would take good care of Crowley and make sure he felt every bit of reverence and affection Aziraphale had for him- after he punished him. Because the thought of making Crowley his submissive was just too tempting to pass up in this moment. 

“Thou shalt have no gods before me,” Aziraphale whispered threateningly in Crowley’s ear, and the demon collapsed against the Bentley, sobbing as the tears that clung to his eyelashes spilled down his cheeks. “I am your only Lord now and you will do as I say. You will never again disrespect me as you have tonight, is that understood?” 

He made his point by shoving his fingers just a bit farther into Crowley’s mouth, making him gag, before removing them and allowing the demon to speak. 

“Ye… Yes, Aziraphale,” he mumbled, his entire body trembling like a candle flame in the wind. 

“Good,” Aziraphale barked, backing away so abruptly that Crowley’s hands shot out to catch himself against the windows. He turned slowly around, all but cowering against the Bentley, his trousers open and his cock straining against his pants. Once again Aziraphale felt that immediate urge to rush forward, to caress and kiss away the tears from his cheeks and cradle him until he felt his release. But all in good time. The sparkle of satisfaction in Crowley’s eyes spoke volumes. He _liked_ being treated like this. He always had. Aziraphale decided to delve into the psychology of it later, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Crowley had been attracted to him _because_ he had been cruel as an angel, not in spite of it. 

The door of the Bentley popped open at Aziraphale’s will, and he pointed commandingly in its direction. “In the Bentley. _Now,_ ” he snarled, and Crowley practically scampered to do as he was told. 

He crawled on his hands and knees into the back seat, and Aziraphale followed closely, hooking a hand possessively around Crowley’s hip and pulling him back flush against him, rocking his hips forward against Crowley’s behind. He sighed a hot breath against the back of Crowley’s neck, his hand sliding from his hip to cup his throbbing cock through the thin cotton of his pants. 

“You like being treated like this… don’t you?” Aziraphale taunted, and Crowley pushed back against him, making Aziraphale suck in a breath. “ _Yesssss,_ ” Crowley hissed. 

“You _wicked_ creature. Was this your plan all along? Get me all bothered so I'd have to anger fuck you in the Bentley?” 

“I’d dared to hope,” Crowley whispered bashfully, and Aziraphale glided his hand away from his crotch and up his chest to wrap around Crowley’s throat and squeeze just hard enough. 

“Well congratulations. You succeeded. I think you'll find…” Aziraphale released Crowley’s throat and scooted backwards, so his knees were on the floor, and yanked Crowley by his hips until he had him bent over the large bench seat. He took a moment to be thankful that Crowley had chosen to be obsessed with a car that had such ample passenger space as he pinned Crowley’s wrists behind his back and shoved his face into the leather seat. He willed away all of their clothing at once, and pressed his rock hard cock between Crowley’s ass cheeks. And _oh_ how Crowley _keened_. 

“You are going to regret it.” 

Even in his current state which was, by all accounts, an absolute _mess_ , Crowley had the audacity to chuckle. “Try me.” 

Crowley could be such a _brat_. Aziraphale felt no shame in admitting he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He leaned back slightly and spanked Crowley’s ass, decided it wasn’t nearly hard enough for the level of punishment he was going for, and smacked the same spot again, much harder. Crowley cried out, the sound muffled by the fact that Aziraphale still had him pinned to the bench seat. Aziraphale admired the red mark that appeared instantly, and raked his manicured fingernails so unbelievably softly over the mark that Crowley mumbled something incoherent that didn’t even sound like English, his body trembling all over. Aziraphale watched him shiver for a while, before leaning over him and pulling his head back by his hair once more. 

“Do you have a safe word?” he whispered, and Crowley practically melted at the suggestion that he would even need one. 

“Ezekiel.” 

“Very well then,” he said, taking Crowley’s jaw roughly in his hand. “Are you ready to receive your punishment?” 

Crowley couldn’t find any words that wouldn’t have come out as a moan instead, and settled on nodding, as best he could with his jaw captured as it was. Aziraphale pressed his fingertips to Crowley’s lips, and instructed him to suck. Crowley obeyed, and Aziraphale watched as his talented lips and tongue covered his fingers in saliva. He pulled his hand away, once again bending Crowley over the seat, and prodded at his entrance with his slick fingertip. Crowley whimpered as he inserted one finger, then after a few achingly slow thrusts, added the second. He located Crowley’s prostate incredibly quickly, and relentlessly stimulated it, watching how Crowley’s hips began rocking, slowly at first but then getting faster and more erratic. As soon as he saw the first warning signs of an impending climax, he removed his fingers and refused the demon any further contact. 

Crowley growled and thrust backwards, trying to find anything that would stimulate him. 

“Is there something you want?” Aziraphale chided, and Crowley struggled against his grip on his wrists. 

“Nghh Aziraphale, I want… _please_ …” 

“If I gave you what you want, that wouldn’t be very good punishment, would it?” 

Crowley remained silent, but his trembling grew worse. Aziraphale reached around him, and began slowly stroking him, up the length of his shaft and stopping to tease his cock head with soft fingertips. 

Crowley jerked, trying to make Aziraphale give him more pressure, and when he didn’t comply, he struggled again to free his hands. He managed to slip one hand free, and it darted to his cock, encircling Aziraphale's hand and making him tighten his grip. Crowley managed a few strokes, before Aziraphale wrangled his wrists and pinned them against his back again. 

“Aziraphale, please, _please,_ ” Crowley whimpered, and Aziraphale gave him what he wanted. He began stroking him in earnest- long, quickening tugs at his solid cock. Crowley rested his forehead against the seat, his hips rocking in tandem with Aziraphale's strokes, until his stomach muscles contracted hard, signaling his impending release. Aziraphale once again withdrew his touch, this time making Crowley scream. 

He kept rocking his hips, unable to gain any contact where he was aching so badly. “Angel, I beg you. _Please_ just fuck me already. I need you. _I need you, please. I'll do anything_ …” 

“Say you're sorry.” 

“I’m sorry. Angel, I… shouldn’t have…” his voice cracked around a sob. “God _I'm so sorry_ …” 

“Now then. Was that so hard?” Aziraphale cooed, lining himself up and sliding, finally, inside him. 

Crowley bit down on the leather of the seat and muffled his own scream as he did so. Aziraphale rocked his hips at just the right speed, waiting until he could see Crowley jerk in response to his cock contacting his prostate. Once he found it, one hand pinning Crowley’s wrists and the other yanking his hair, he began pounding mercilessly into that spot. 

Crowley wasn't forming any coherent words, just spewing desperate sounds and pleas, entirely at Aziraphale’s mercy. 

“Oh don’t stop _please don’t stop_ …” he begged, and Aziraphale grunted from the effort of staving off his own orgasm. Breaking down Crowley’s cool and aloof demeanor in lieu of this shaking, bumbling _wreck_ was enough to get him off on just the thought, but to be _buried inside him at the same time_ … 

"Sssssshit Aziraphale I... I'm gonna come _fuck_..." 

Aziraphale released his hair and reached around to stroke him through it. His insides clenched around Aziraphale’s cock as he came, and he couldn’t help but to spill inside him. He continued to stroke Crowley’s softening cock, using his come so that his hand was slick with it, sending him reeling with the most blissfully painful overstimulation. 

"No, please. Sssssstop, that's too much, Aziraphale. _Please ssssstop_ ," he begged. Seeing as how _please stop_ wasn't the safe word, Aziraphale doubled his efforts, sliding his thumb over Crowley's cock head. He reveled in Crowley's pitiful, helpless little noises and how his hips jerked erratically. 

"Sssssshit Ezekiel! Ezekiel! _Fuck,_ ” Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale relented, releasing his wrists and removing himself from his lover. Crowley slumped against the seat, his body still convulsing from the aftershocks and his breaths coming in long gasps. He climbed weakly up to collapse on the bench, and Aziraphale noticed the sheen of tears on his cheeks. 

“I’m sssssorry angel. Really. I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean… I would never hurt you, cuz… I love you…” 

“Hush, my dear. Dear, sweet thing. It’s alright,” Aziraphale cooed, shimmying across the floor of the Bentley to cradle Crowley’s shoulders. He pulled him to his chest, and kissed his sweat soaked hair. Crowley shivered and clung to him, whimpering. 

“I forgive you. Of course I do, I forgive you.” 

He held Crowley and stroked his hair until his gasps grew quiet, and his shaking subsided. He glanced down to find his eyes closed, and a wave of adoration washed over him. Aziraphale would never have treated Crowley like that had he not instigated it with wrath, and he felt guilty even though Crowley had quite clearly wanted it. But this part, he found, he enjoyed immensely. The tenderness afterwards. The desperate need for closeness and compassion. 

“Was that… alright, my dear?” he whispered, and watched the slow grin forming on Crowley’s lips, though he remained cuddled into Aziraphale's chest. He burrowed his face into his neck, his hand sliding over his shoulder in an easy embrace. 

“Angel… if you keep fucking me like that… I swear I’m going to forsake Satan and start worshipping _you_ because…” his voice trailed off as he blushed, and Aziraphale simply adored the way he tried to tuck his face further into his shoulder to hide his blushing. 

“Well my dear… I think we both know you haven’t worshipped Satan in earnest in a very long time.” 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” 

Aziraphale laughed, and willed both of their clothes back on. Crowley groaned in protest, but pulled reluctantly away. Aziraphale placed a hand on his cheek, and another wave of affection hit him so hard he thought his heart might’ve skipped. So many words he wished to say, so many endearments he wanted to make, but none of them seemed good enough. Words didn’t exist that could speak what Aziraphale felt for this demon. _His_ demon. 

“You really _are_ trouble, aren't you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooooo I'm still very new to writing "the gay" haha. This is only my second attempt at M/M (Part 1 was my first). I hang on every word of your reviews and I love to hear from you! Please let me know what you think and if you think I can improve anywhere!


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